A slim doctor with major's insignia came out. "Senior Pacelli, Kendra if I may? I'm Lou Rostov."
"How is he, Sir?" she asked.
"Physically, fine. Minor abrasions and contusions, but few permanent marks." Kendra exhaled at the news.
"But he was hit by a vicious nanovirus we are still tracking," Rostov said. "He's not rational."
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing yet. We just got him this morning. I'm not even sure exactly what the intended effect is," he admitted.
"Can I see him?" she asked agitatedly.
"Certainly, but you need to be aware of a few things," he cautioned, taking her arm and steering her down a corridor. He explained as they walked.
Rob was alternating rapidly between apparent rationality and violent emotion. He would switch from normal speech to gibberish and appeared to be hallucinating. "Whatever they used was tailored for total mental incapacitation and is unique enough there's nothing on file even approximating it. And our records made it through the war completely intact. We have several tens of casualties and most are responding to standard counters. He isn't, for some reason."
They stopped at a door. "A few more things," Rostov advised. "He was found by some steaders who recognized him as ours, but had to lock him in a shed for safety. He was locked up for six weeks. I'm reluctant to restrain him for fear of causing more trauma and don't want to trank him, both for fear of interaction and because I need to study the symptoms. You can see him, but I'll be scanning everything."
Kendra nodded, "That's fine. Let me see him." She was impatiently eager.
Rostov opened the door for her.
Rob sat in the corner of a sterile-looking room. He didn't notice her at first, so she glanced around. The room was much like a cell and had a bed, a toilet and little else. It would be hard for a disturbed patient to damage himself.
"Rob?" she said.
He looked up, grinned and jumped to his feet. "Kendra!" he shouted, walking quickly over. He gathered her in a hug, then kissed her passionately. Seems fine to me, Doc, she thought. Rob drew back, still holding her around the waist and seemed to freeze. He was motionless for several seconds, then started to laugh.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You have fomombyse curling out of your hair."
"What?" she asked. He ignored her, slapped at something overhead and pushed past her. He felt along the wall for a seg or more, seemingly tracing cracks. Then he turned.
"Oh, there you are," he said. "Let's go." He took her hand and led her around the room.
"Go where?" she asked, nervous. Irrational behavior was scarier than violence.
"Home," he said. "I've got some supwervosid to take care of. You can help."
"What is a supwervosid?" she asked.
"I don't know. What origin is the word?" he returned. "Oh, shit!" he snapped and threw her down. She rolled, wondering if there was a real threat this time. There was not. "Give me your gun," he demanded.
"I'm not armed," she said.
"That's fine, give it to me," he insisted.
"I don't have one," she said again.
"Dumb ass!" he said and leapt over her. He attacked the wall, which was designed to give enough to prevent injury. She rose and made the mistake of trying to pull him away.
He turned and rocketed a fist at her face. She blocked it, started to slip sideways, then felt the other hand catch her right under the ribs, low on her right side. Breath knocked out, diaphragm too paralyzed even for chi breathing to help, she staggered backward and collapsed.
Her vision and breath returned, to see four burly orderlies holding him down. Another assisted her out the door.
"Are you okay?" Rostov asked.
"Will be," she nodded. "I should know better than to let a parallel punch get me."
"He's a friend. You couldn't expect it."
"Sorry I stirred him up," she apologized. She was nearing tears at seeing Rob so helpless.
"Don't be," Rostov said. "I'll need to review it further, but it appears that unusual occurrences, like your arrival, allow him to focus better. He responded more to you than to our staff."
"Does that help?" she asked.
"Everything helps at this point," Rostov admitted.
* * *
She went back the next day. Rob was responsive, but the intermittent laughter and shakes were unnerving. Halfway through lunch, he suddenly heaved his plate across the room. "Yucch!" he said, recoiling.
"What?" she asked.
"Worms? Dozer slugs? I'm not eating that," he protested.
"That was a sandwich," she said. "What you saw was part of a dream."
"I know," he agreed. He stood and approached the wall. "Check this out," he said, pointing.
"What is it?" she asked. The wall was featureless.
"This here," he indicated an imaginary vertical axis, "is your arrival time. The horizontal is the duration of your stay."
"Yes," she prompted.
"It shows the date!" he said. "Don't you get it?"
"No, Rob, I don't. It's another hallucination," she said.
"No, no! I'm serious about this. I can calculate the date!" he insisted.
"Why?" she asked.
"To find the exit," he said. "I've figured it out. Come on!" He took her hand and led her on a circuitous route again. She remembered him mentioning, in the distant past before the war, that his dreams frequently involved long, labyrinthine travels. It seemed to have carried over to his current affliction. She made a note to tell Rostov of it.
* * *
"You have news?" Kendra asked during her visit the next day.
"Yes," Rostov agreed. "First of all, his module was damaged by EMP. We'll need to replace it afterwards, but that's merely symptomatic. What we have is a nano that . . . well, stripped of the medical jargon, creates a permanent dream state. It is nonlethal and only affects most of the higher functions, so the claim of 'harmless' toxin is accurate, from a legal standpoint."
"He's dreaming?" she asked incredulously.
"Hallucinating, dreaming," Rostov said. "Whatever you call it, it is all controlled by the same area of the brain. This nano embeds itself and starts producing chemicals to stimulate such thoughts. All we have to do now is figure out why he's different from the others and how to counteract it. So far, we have nothing to base it on. The UN claims the lab that created it was destroyed.
"That's why I wanted to see you," he continued. "I gather the two of you are close?"
"Lovers."
"Good. We need someone close for moral support and familiar enough to not be considered a threat. It also helps to have personal information that will tell us if we are getting side effects that damage the personality. This will be a risky procedure.
"Then, of course, there's the not minor consideration of legal guardianship until we are done," he said.
"Marta and I are as close as he has to family," she said. "But we will support anything that might help."
Nodding, he said, "I'd hoped so. We'd like you to be here during most of his conscious periods to help. But I have to warn you that it will be intensely personal and embarrassing. The higher functions will be stripped away and the baser instincts—anger, lust, fear—will come out much stronger. And we will have to monitor for safety, analysis and research." He reddened slightly as he explained.
Kendra agreed and left with the news. She wasn't sure why she hadn't told Marta yet, except that it didn't seem like a good idea.
Marta was cooking when she got home; she could smell it as she entered. "I'm home!" she shouted loudly as a precaution and headed up the ramp. Marta was waiting, hand on pistol. She nodded, dropped her guard and kissed her lightly.
"Hi," she said. Marta replied and headed back to the stove.
"We've found Rob," she said, and Marta froze for a moment.
"Alive?" she asked. It was an ordinary question these days.
"Physically fine," Kendra assur
ed her. "Affected by some tailored nano that creates hallucinations. They've been working on it."
"Can we see him?" Marta asked, anxiously.
"I've been in, but you shouldn't," she advised. "He's not coherent."
"I can handle it if you can," Marta insisted, serving up a bed of fried noodles with chicken. It was in small pieces because Marta couldn't chew properly anymore. Kendra decided to table the argument.
The food was good. Marta seemed to be on edge again. Then Kendra remembered that her therapy was to start the next day. She decided not to mention it unless Marta brought it up first.
They lit a fire after dinner and sat together. Marta drank less than her recent habitual amount, Kendra noted. She consented to being massaged and stiffened only occasionally as Kendra brushed some spot that triggered terrifying memories.
Marta was tense all night, tossing restlessly and lashing out twice. Kendra finally headed for the spare room.
* * *
Marta's first session was that morning. Doctor Wu arrived late enough for them to sleep in, had they been able to. Kendra greeted her, shaking hands. She was a small oriental, tanned almost black from living in the inner Halo. Her face looked fragile and young, but the muscles indicated heavy orbital work.
"Pleased to meet you, Kendra," she acknowledged. "I'm told you may wish to talk to me also?"
" 'Directed' would be closer," she smiled wryly, "but I guess I should."
"I would appreciate it," Wuu said, nodding in an almost bow. "I like to interview people from other cultures, to study the different perceptions of . . . incidents like this."
At Wu's request, Kendra disappeared into the yard for a div. She tried to recover some of the manicured landscaping with only a few hand tools but it was a futile task and she knew it. Still, it gave her something to do besides worry. The dirt and grime felt good. She threw herself into pulling weeds and straightening bricks and didn't notice the passage of time until Doctor Wuu called for her. She rose, aching from exertion, and went inside to wash her hands and get a glass of water. Wuu was waiting for her in the living room, seated relaxed and comfortably in the chair across from the couch. She'd pulled it a bit closer.
"Where's Marta?" she asked.
"Upstairs meditating. It went well, for a first session. She's very strong and I think she'll be fine. It also helps that she's military. For most survivors, we let them take control of the situation and make them feel secure. For military personnel, it sometimes, and in this case is, easier and faster to put them back into a disciplined system. The structure reassures them that order still exists and helps them deal with the attack as a failure of the system; anarchy, if you will.
"A large part of her problem is the cultural perception, that somehow she has been grievously hurt by this. The physical injuries from the rape were actually not bad, compared to say, the damage to her face and left knee. The psychological injury shouldn't be that bad—she was unconscious for most of it, although there is still sensory input while unconscious.
"Her greatest trauma comes from having not put up a fight. She's a rated master in unarmed combat and this made her feel totally helpless and insecure. That we can deal with. And it ties in to the cultural perception again—you may have noticed that most people here have trouble using the word 'rape.' Which is not to say that it is wrong for it to be considered a disgusting crime, but there is a lot of emotion attached to just using it."
Kendra asked, "So what about the attitude I grew up with? That you accept that it happens, but doesn't demean you? That the real loser is the attacker?"
Wuu ran a hand through her thick silver-black hair. "Not being demeaned by it is healthy. Realizing that the attacker is lashing out against his own insecurities is healthy. But I have a fundamental problem with accepting that it happens. It is a terrible thing.
"The problem between the two of you is that she rightly perceives it as an act thoroughly insulting and degrading in intent. Her attackers were telling her that she was merely a thing to vent frustration on, in a very intimate fashion. You perceive it as revealing their helplessness and rage at the situation. You are both correct. But you both need to see the other side of the equation."
She continued, "I'm not suggesting you should feel as violated by your attack as she does by hers. You obviously are coping better in that regard. But you should consider that the motive of the attackers was to degrade you thoroughly, to show contempt for you.
"Now, legally, rape is awkward in the Freehold. Without an actual criminal code, it is hard to quantify the damage done in financial terms, as with robbery, arson or even murder. The victim is left alive, frequently with only minor physical injury. What is the loss? This runs into collision with the moral outrage at the concept. It happens rarely here, because this is a more civilized society. Its rarity and the higher standards of personal responsibility make it far more offensive. So we juggle the minor legal issue with the huge moral issue.
"As far as the two of you," Wuu said, "Marta sees that you are coping better, ignoring that her circumstances were far different, from her perspective, than yours. She knows you have been through this before with very minor post trauma. She finds this offensive—it indicates unconsciously to her that she is not coping, that you are stronger and that she is even less in control because of that. It would be easier if you couldn't sympathize, because then she wouldn't have to see you dealing with it.
"Now, shall we talk about your feelings?" she asked, folding her hands in her lap.
Chapter 50
"Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that."
—William Shakespeare, King Lear
"I'm coming with you today," Marta announced the next morning. Kendra was drained from the therapy session and felt sure Marta was also.
Surprised by the comment, Kendra warily said, "Rob's not really in shape for guests."
"Why not?" Marta asked. "He knows me better than he knows you."
"Yes, but . . ." Kendra began. "He's very confused. I'm not sure we should do this. Especially since he has no control over himself. It could be bad for you."
"I'm a battlefield trauma medic. I've seen some thoroughly disgusting things. If he's merely having tracking problems, I can handle it. Really," she insisted. "Are you trying to keep me away?" she asked, a bit accusatorily.
"No," Kendra replied. But I don't want to see you get hurt. This was not good. She couldn't tell Marta why without bringing up her recent gang rape, which she didn't want to do. Nor did she want to keep her away. But there was no way to hint at the reason. She spent the rest of the trip hoping for some convenient way to call Doctor Rostov and warn him. There didn't seem to be a way.
As soon as they arrived, she insisted on checking in with Rostov. She explained in a very few sentences as she led him out for introductions. "This is Marta," she said. "She wants to visit Rob today." She hoped he'd get the hint, having heard some of Marta's story.
Frowning, Rostov shook his head and said, "I have to advise against it." He looked at Kendra and she shrugged back. Marta said, "What's the problem here? I'm as close as Kendra and I want to see him. If he's not comfortable, I'll leave. As far as me being uncomfortable, I'm a professional. Now can we stop wasting time?"
Rostov reluctantly agreed and Marta headed for the ward. Kendra followed, noting that he made a quick call for help. She met Marta at the door and said, "Let me go in first."
"Sure."
Rob greeted Kendra as she entered. "Hi!" He hugged her and kissed her as usual. His eyes still had that vacant look. She turned him away from the door as Marta slipped in.
"Feeling better?" she asked, gripping his wrists.
"Mostly. Except for a fight with a weolk a few segs ago. That is an hallushination, right?" he asked, concentrating and looking unsure. He rubbed his eyes.
"As far as I know," she agreed. She'd kept his attention focused on her as much as possible and felt a sinking feeling as she said, "I brought someone else," and pointed.
&n
bsp; Rob turned, paused for only a second and shouted, "Mar!" He gathered her in a hug, wrapped a hand in her hair and kissed her deeply. She stiffened momentarily then made herself relax. As he pulled back, she looked happily at Kendra.
Rob was moving, urging her back against the wall. She looked concerned at first, then increasingly scared as he pinned her against it and began kissing her neck. He pulled at her pants and she convulsed in panic, grabbing for his hands as he reached in to fondle her.
Her terrified scream staggered him back. He hopped around, confused and crying, and Kendra caught him. She helped him sit on the floor, then turned to Marta, who was curled in a fetal position, whimpering. Medics swarmed into the room and moved to assist.
"I told her it was a bad idea!" she insisted to Lou Rostov. "Why wouldn't she listen?" Tears ran as he took her hand and guided her out. "No," she protested. "I've got to help them!"
"We'll help them," he assured her. "Right now you need some support yourself." He steered her to an empty office and into a seat.
"Listen," he said. "Right now, she's trying to pretend that everything is normal. His reaction is within the parameters of the condition and she knows that, technically. But she saw it from a personal viewpoint, not her professional one."
"I should have stopped her," Kendra said, breathing deeply to calm herself.
"I doubt it would have helped," he said. "Had you brought up her . . . assault, it would simply have made her determined to prove you wrong."
Nodding, she asked, "And what about Rob?"
"He'll bounce right past it. Remember: nothing is real to him right now. It's all part of a dream." She nodded in understanding.
"Speaking of which," he said, "we are ready to try some treatment. We have a tailored enzyme which should attack the nano, and a nano of our own to normalize the chemical levels in the brain."
"Wow. What did that cost to concoct?" she asked.
"We haven't figured that out yet," he admitted. "But the military is covering it and there are other victims of the same agent. And it wouldn't be an issue; our veterans get treated no matter the cost."